Sunday, December 09, 2012

Letters from my dad 3

I
remember the night dad was involved in that big wreck that shattered
his hip socket. After Uncle Dean brought mom home to clean up, we went
back to see him. When we slowly walked into the dreaded shadows of that
darkened room, I saw him all strung up
with the traction ropes, and bandages on him just everywhere. I
remember mom saying to me, grasping me on the shoulder, in a hushed
tragic whisper, "Oh Jim! He's hurt SO bad!"

I'd never seen or heard anything that wounded me so deeply with the
feeling of absolute grief and distress, although there have been plenty
of times like that since. But I tried not to cry, because for some
stupid reason I was supposed to be tough, at the time. I thought mom
needed me to lean on. Stupid naive teenager. Turns out she's always
been tougher than I could ever hope to be. But that's another story,
isn't it?

As
that instant passed, I remember the feeling that came over me. It was
not really comforting or any silly stuff like that. It was just the
KNOWING that dad would be all right. Eventually. And realizing that
although he was as broken and in as much pain as a man can be and still
be alive, I knew he was going to survive. I knew he would be with us
for quite a while yet. I've really never felt anything like it, before
or since.

I lived in the South for a while, but never noticed any of these signs of segregation. What is happening now? The idea of aboli...

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